


When This You See, Remember Me

by thespookys



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Other, Pain, Peter Parker Deserves Better, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker is a Mess, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Sad with a Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:20:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25935073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thespookys/pseuds/thespookys
Summary: Peter was fairly certain that every ounce of his blood had just frozen as he processed her words. Someone had done this, had hurt her, to get to Spider-Man.This was his fault after all."Oh god. Oh, my god. No...no.."
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Peter Parker/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	1. Ethereal.

In a mess of tangled pinstriped sheets and wild curls Peter flung himself from his bed, disrupting the early morning's gentleness in a panic to just _find some clean jeans!_

His night had been nothing but fitful sleep, his mind never quieting enough for him to really settle in.

It had been three weeks since he'd heard from _her_ and then suddenly, like an answered prayer, his phone _pinged_ violently against his hip while on his nightly patrol.

**Norma's on Catalapa- meet me there.** **9am. I'll explain everything.**

He'd gotten to his apartment late into the night (or early morning, depending on which Peter Parker you ran into once he woke) and immediately tried to ease his restless mind so he could catch a few hours of sleep.

Now, here he is, 8:30 am on a Wednesday running behind - classic Peter Parker. What else could she have to explain? Why Norma's? That was on the entire other side of town from their usual haunts!

Stumbling into his shoes and out the front door, Peter set off at a quick jog. The only thing on his mind now was the last time he saw _her_ and all of the questions he had swirling around.

Peter's mind began to wonder back to that night as he hurried through the early morning foot traffic. _"What did I do wrong? Did I offend her by assuming we were something....more?"_

Muttering out "sorry's" and "excuse me, ma'am's", Peter shivered as a bad feeling crept down his spine and made his hair stand on end. This wasn't going to be a good day.

Weaving between people with panted breaths, Peter thought he might burst with nervous energy. Not only was he now, officially, late to meet _her_ but he was getting more of that bone chilling feeling the closer he got to the little café.

Finally clearing whatever stale air was between them would make him feel better, even if it put an end to whatever they were _before_ that night.

Peter was always one to believe in love, but love at first sight? Fucking foolish.

At least, that's what he thought he believed until he caught sight of the pale milk-like skin and dark chestnut hair. After three weeks of radio silence and not once "running" into her anywhere, Peter was ready to launch himself over the cars and people that separated them.

Yelling a _"Hey!"_ to try grabbing her attention and throwing an arm up to wave, he stood on the opposite side of the street from her, arms falling to his side in awe of her.

Chestnut waves hung loose around her face with the gentle late spring breeze ruffling them slightly, her hands shoved deep into her jacket pockets as she rocked on the heels of her boots. Finally crossing the street and heading directly towards her, Peter wondered when she would refocus herself and see him.

After his shout startled the people next to him, he opted to wait until he was a bit closer to draw her out of whatever haze she was lost in.

It was welcoming to him, the gentleness of her features and the familiar all black aesthetic that she loved to joke about during their late night conversations; he couldn't control the slight upward tug of his lips as the people ahead of him began to thin out.

Peter could smell the coffee beans from how close he was getting to the café but it was back- the creeping sensation that something was wrong.

Heading straight for her he could see now the nervous behavior - the way she bit her lip and bounced slightly. Peter felt himself begin to frown as a man much bigger suddenly blocked most of his view of her.

He increased his strides as he watched her eyes widen and head jerk up to take in the man Peter was mentally berating.

"Hey! What're you doing!?" Peter yelled as the man shoved her back, spinning her to grip her arm and started to briskly walk away. Running now, Peter watched as the man shoved her into an alley.

Not bothering to ease into whatever situation was going down, Peter turned into the alley. "Let her go!" He screamed at seeing her pressed into the brick wall, with this slender man leaning over her, waving some kind of chain in her face.

The man's shaggy hair wiped around his face as he jerked back to see what idiot could be screaming over _her_ , of all people. Taking the advantage of the distraction she threw one solid punch to the man's throat.

As he stumbled to the side, Peter watched as she ducked and weaved around Ol' Shaggy hair, heading straight past him but grabbing his sleeve as she did.

Turning with her, Peter heard her whisper-yell, "Run, Pete, c'mon!" Three weeks and one day- that's how long it had been since Peter had seen her, since he felt her hand in his.

Now that he was so close to her he could see everything- the fading of a bruise along the hollow of her cheek, the split in her plush bottom lip and the angry skin of her knuckles from being split open.

Peter knew pain, recovery and restlessness. He knew, inside of his bones, how it felt to drag yourself across the pavement, bleeding, and not being able to tell a single person _why_. This is why Peter knew what the tingle down his spine was.

It wasn't just nerves at seeing her, at asking her if she felt it too, it was his Spidey Senses ( _"Petey Tingle! Oh my god, Peter. Never change that!_ ") telling him that something was horribly wrong with her; something had happened to her. Was it because of him? Because of what she knew?

Tightening his grip on her slender hand, Peter yanked her down another street in a desperate attempt to put distance between them and his goddamn Spidey Sense.

Releasing a shaky breath Peter stopped abruptly, almost causing the poor girl her dragging along to crash into him. "What is going on and why is this...this PERSON chasing us!?" He screamed, pulling her closer to him and grabbing her other hand.

Hazel eyes searched his whole face, several times over, before she rasped out, "He wants you, Pete. Well- well, not you you but Y O U. Spidey. He...th-they want him.." coughing between sentences, she pulled a hand from his to rub at what appeared to be more fading bruises along the base of her throat.

Peter was fairly certain that every ounce of his blood had just frozen as he processed her words. Someone had done this, had hurt her, to get to Spider-Man.

This was his fault after all.

He moved to let go of her completely, to shove her in a different direction, to go to another alley in the city and dig through his backpack for his suit and somehow make this right; somehow make it up to _her_.

"Pete- Peter, we have to go. We have to go NOW!" She screamed at him, the firmness of her voice pulling him from his spiraling thoughts.

Peter reached back for her arm, tugging her behind him as they ran from one alley to another before finally sprinting across the street. Ahead there was what looked to be an apartment building that was undergoing renovations; the outside was blocked off with green-meshed fences with various equipment left untouched for the day.

Spidey-Senses still going wild, Peter found a break between fences and pulled them both through before finally slowing to a quick jog and turning to face the girl behind him.

" _Ophelia_...you gotta tell me what's going on? What happened to you? Y-you just left? Who--who was that guy?" Peter rushed out so many words, he was sure none of them actually made sense. The only thing his brain registered was the feeling of her name on his lips after so many weeks of not saying it; it felt bittersweet.

Watching as Peter dragged a hand through his hair, the curls falling wildly from all the running, Ophelia sucked in a breath and bit down hard on her lower lip.

The action drew Peter's gaze immediately, forcing his mind to wonder back to before she left, to the note stating an _"emergency to deal with",_ and then the overwhelming urge to just _hold_ her hit him.

Her soft voice snapped him out of his heartache, their eyes finally meeting.

"Peter, I'll tell you everything, I promise. After we get out of this mess. I swear I..I didn't tell them a thing. But we gotta go! They...they can still track me...I think. You gotta get out of here, Pete!"

She wasn't making any sense to him. How could they be tracking her? Why would they?

"What didn't you tell them, Ophelia? What happened?" He rasped, stepping closer to her and running his hands down her arms.

Head snapping up and skin crawling with warning, Peter wrapped his arms tightly around the smaller girl before bringing them both to the gravel covered ground.

Gun shots followed milliseconds after they'd begun falling sideways, the bullets breezing past where their bodies had just been.

Grunting from the impact, Ophelia pushed Peter from her body and gestured for him to follow her into what was left of the building.

Crouching into a low run the pair breezed between scaffolding as the gun shots stopped and the sound of footsteps increased behind them. Shoving Peter into the first opening of the building they found, Ophelia pushed him against the wall with a hand against his mouth as a man in all black stocked past the opening.

"We have to split up, Peter. Please, just go." She whispered against his chest, her forehead resting on his collar. Peter tangled a hand in her dark hair before forcing her face up so he could look at her, he sighed, "C'mon. We'll go out the...well, where the window will be and I'll get us down. Trust me- I'll keep you safe, I promise."

He swore he saw something that looked alot like sadness in Ophelia's eyes, but choosing to ignore that for now, along with a ton of other baggage, Peter grabbed her hand and began creeping them away from their hiding spot.

 _"Opheeeeliiaa!"_ A voice called out in a sing-song tune, making Peter's senses go wild again. He could feel the girl behind him go ridged at the call of her name, causing him to squeeze her hand tighter as they kept on down the half finished hall.

Muttering curses under his breath, Peter froze abruptly as he picked up movement to his left- directly on the other side of the wall they were currently standing beside.

Ophelia stood frozen behind him as time seemed to slow as the _click_ of a gun rang out around them.

Of course their location would be easy to figure out with them hiding in a skeleton of a building and of course the guy that had been following them had become _four_ guys in black.

Shoving Peter forward just as bullets tore through the ratty drywall, Ophelia grunted as she hit the dusty hall floor; rolling to the side and crawling forward, she met Peter halfway as he hoisted her to her feet roughly before they both broke into a full run to avoid becoming the poor man's swiss cheese.

Sliding to the right and skidding to a stop, Peter wrapped an arm around Ophelia's waist and stopped them on the ledge of the unfinished wall.

Several stories of empty air rushed below them now as the disembodied voice grew loud around them again, calling out for Ophelia, demanding she **"tell me the** **name, Ophelia!"**

"Do you trust me?" Peter whispered, looking down into her hazel eyes for any doubt. As soon as the girl nodded once Peter pulled her tighter to him and dropped from the ledge.

Sticking to the edge of the building with his free hand, Peter supported both of their weight with the other- waiting for the man to pass the opened side of the building so they could begin their decent.

A violent wind tore through the area, causing Peter to shift just slightly enough that he had to quickly scramble to grab the siding again. The force of the shift making Ophelia slip further down, Peter holding her wrist now in one hand as the other kept them glued to the building, she wrapped her other hand around his arm.

"Pete- Peter, listen to me. They're gonna find out. We can't stay like this 'till they leave...we-we can't! You gotta let me go, Pete.." The frantic words left Ophelia's mouth so quickly her brain hadn't fully caught up to them until Peter's grip tightened painfully around her wrist.

Peter had never frowned so deep in his life, he was sure of it. This was crazy talk! He wasn't just going to let her fall several stories into construction rubble! She wouldn't survive it, surely.

"I'll get us down, Ope. Just...just trust me!" He gasped out, feeling her grip on his wrist disappear entirely. He was fully supporting her now, if he held on any tighter her delicate bones would snap.

Glancing down at her, he saw the way her dark waves fluttered around her face and how at, oddly, peaceful her eyes seemed in that moment. It unnerved him to think of how quickly her mind went straight to _him_ letting _her_ fall; like it was the most natural thing in the world for him to fail, to give up.

"J-just hang on. I'll web you down and then I-I...I'll jump, too. I can make the fall! You wont!" He yelled, in a desperate attempt to fix the situation they had stumbled (or, ran) into.

Peter could hear someone getting closer to them from above; it would only be minutes until they were discovered on the side of the building, either by those chasing them or a passersby glancing up. The way her lips turned upwards, just slightly, made his blood chill.

"Peter," she whispered, "if you do that...they'll know it's you. They'll come for you, for your family. For your friends! Everyone you've ever known. I can't be the cause of that. Besides...." Trailing off, Ophelia planted her boots against the brick building and waved her free hand by her face- revealing Peter's webshooter.

She had slipped it from his wrist the second she realized the predicament they were in; to _protect_ him, she had told herself.

"I DON'T CARE ABOUT THAT. I'M NOT LETTING YOU GO!" Peter shouted, sudenly very unaware of the people around or the threat above.

His heart, the poor heart that was already so wrecked with guilt and self-doubt, broke further when he saw the glossy look in her eyes. Tears that threatened to spill at any second as she huffed a sad laugh out.

"You will. I'm so sorry, Pete.."

And she kicked off the side of the building, the webshooter tumbling from her hand as Peter grasped at the air, desperately. Too stunned to scream, to move, Peter watched in horror as she fell; as someone else noticed and screamed.

The sound of her bones breaking and her lungs filling with blood pulled him from his stupor, forcing him to crawl to the corner of the building. Burying his face into the brick wall, he felt the hot tears slid down his face as he looked around the edge and down.

The same shaggy haired man was already approaching her limped body, her face having turned an ashen color as blood began to pool underneath her. A metal post, 5 inches around, impaled through her sternum, as blood leaked from her pale lips.

Peter watched the man lean over her, as he dropped into the alley of the building, already ripping through his bag and shedding his hoodie.

His movements stopped all together when he heard her scream rip through the newly chilled air. It was blood curdling and shrill and so unlike her voice.

Yanking his mask down and rushing to get himself in the air, Spider-Man landed in the crowd that had gathered around her.

_"Can-can I...no, I-I'm gonna kiss you. Okay? Just..just tell me stop, and I will. I swear, Ope."_

_"I'm not going to, Peter_."

Collapsing beside her bloody body, Peter took into account every decision that led him to this moment, every wrong choice and everything he could have done to prevent this. Bruised and bloody, she was still ethereal in her beauty.

And it broke his fucking heart.

Pulling the bar from her ribs with a sick _crunch_ Peter tossed it aside, not even bothering to mind the people crowding them as her gingerly touched her face.

"Oh god. Oh, my god. No..no.."

° °

_"Peter Parker, you're gonna be the death of me. I swear, with all this worrying I do."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> e·the·re·al
> 
> /əˈTHirēəl/
> 
> adjective
> 
> 1.
> 
> extremely delicate and light in a way that seems too perfect for this world.
> 
> "her ethereal beauty"
> 
> °  
> °  
> Peter Parker is like the smell before rain and the warmth of a familiar blanket. Let him rest.
> 
> Update?


	2. A Foreboding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, how a sleepy spider just wanted to wake up. He never meant for this to happen.

**Five Hundred and Fifty Days, Before**

Peter knew he was absolutely, without a doubt, screwed the second he woke up.

Judging by the way the sun was horrendously assaulting his eyes, it was late into the day; that meant he had missed the majority of his classes already.

He only hoped his professors would believe whatever excuse of an illness he could come up with in the next 20 minutes and grant him just a _little_ extension on his projects- technically he wouldn't be lying, either. He definitely wasn't feeling up to being alive today, let alone going to class.

After thrawting several attempted muggings, one car crash involving two incredibly frustrated doordashers, and having half of a store front window dropped on him, again, by a maniacal green moron Peter was 100% certain he would rather do anything else other than listen to lectures and prepare for midterms.

Sluggishly prying himself from his bed and flopping down at his messy desk. Letting his head hit the desks top with a loud smack, Peter groaned at the thought of having to pull an all-nighter to maintain his grades.

Every bone and muscle ached in Peter's body as he attempted to pull on some fresh clothes. If he was going to be awake for the next....foreseeable future..he was going to need both food and major caffeine.

Gently shutting his apartment door behind him, Peter shuffled towards the rickety building elevator. Yawning as he attempted to stretch his aching back, he jabbed the button for the bottom floor and waited. Part of him wished he would've just pulled his mask on and crawled out of his window, but today he needed to be Peter. Not Spider-Man.

At least, not immediately.

At 3 pm the day was still young and New York was always filled with opportunities for some Spidey action.

Sending out quick text replies to Ned, his longtime best friend and his new study partner Gwen, Peter felt a bit more at ease. He knew that they would both help him catch up tonight after missing out on classes and slacking a bit on studying.

Ned may have been the only one to know about Peter's _other_ late night activities, but Gwen was always understanding and ready to pass him her notes. It also helped that they were both studying biochem together and held similar "internships".

(Nevermind that Peter spent most of his "intern hours" dressed in a red and black onesie, sometimes with a black eye.)

The chilled November air was refreshing on his face as he walked the couple of blocks from his shared apartment to his favourite café- the JitterBones.

He enjoyed the snarky drink names, the brick wall that held a multitude of succulents and the warm lighting.

It also helped that the newest barista called him "Pete" and had the softest smile everytime he stumbled in, dead on his feet with a new bruise or split lip.

She always blinked rapidly at him, sighed and said, "You sure are a sight, Pete." There was something about the slight smile and glint in her hazel eyes that had him stumble on his words; he almost never ordered what he really wanted, he just named the first drink that he saw on the menu when she'd ask, _"what's your poison today, Pete?"_ Sometimes she'd ask him how many hours of sleep he had, and she'd pick the drink for him.

That's how they'd grown to know each other, outside of the normal server/customer, anyways.

It was about two weeks ago when he'd drug himself through the heavy glass door, pulling his jacket tighter as the cold breeze turned his ears pink.

The sun had just started to rise and tucked beneath his sweater and denim jacket was his suit; to put it simply, Peter was literally, and figuratively, the dead walking.

He had spent the entire night swinging through the city chasing down leads about a string of bloodless bodies, on top of his _friendly neighborhood_ duties.

And now? Now he needed a hot coffee, with 5 espresso shots, one of those fancy croissants and the next hour and 35 minutes to smash as much of his make up-make up assignment as possible before not even the word of Tony Stark could save his scholarship.

That's how he met _her_ , on a Tuesday morning with zero sleep and feeling very grumpy.

When he shuffled to the counter and muttered off his very wackadoo order, not once even looking up at the poor soul working the opening shift.

Hearing a loud snort, Peter's head shot up in shock at the ridiculous sound. A girl, probably around his age, stood with her hands on the dark oak countertop and a wild grin.

Her dark hair was loosely pulled back and pinned to her fitted black shirt was a name badge.

 _Opie_.

"What a strange name," Peter thought, as he stood there, taking in the sight before him.

"It's actually Ophelia, but Opie seems to make people smile more."

Blinking, Peter realized he had, infact, said that out loud and began to apologize when the sound of her laughter stopped him abruptly.

His words died out when her laughter hadn't stopped; Peter rubbed the back of his neck and huffed.

"It's been a long night. Not that it's an excuse to be rude or anything! It's just- I mean...I'm sorry.." He finished lamely, cheeks a bright pink as the girl sighed in front of him and he watched as a smile began to form on her pale pink lips.

"It's alright, really. What's _not_ alright is six _extra_ espresso shots when the Java Jitter Bug already has three espresso shots! But, if you're sure you wanna do that to yourself...can I get a name?"

"It's Peter, uh, Peter Parker."

That's how it began, about two weeks ago.

Every few days Peter would shuffle down the street and right before he came up to the door and he would attempt to smooth his hair down, blink a few times (rapidly) to wake himself up more and then he'd slid inside and immediately try to find her behind the counter.

Their early morning banter and her soft gaze kept him going as he tried to frantically finish papers and doodle out new suit upgrades.

It was one of those mornings, when he was trying to formulate new web fluid, that she slid into the large green arm chair in front of him. Closing his notebook and sliding it into his backpack, Peter finally noticed the white plate in her lap.

"What'cha working on today, Pete?" Opie breathed out, offering him one of the slices of the banana bread, as she bounced in her seat.

"You know, same old same." He said around a mouth full of the warm bread, a slight smile working it's way onto his face.

Her hair was loose today, the waves looking extra _bouncy_ as she rocked a bit more on the edge of her seat. Peter noticed the glint in her eyes and the way she gripped the plate just a little too tight.

Her heart was also beating a bit too rapidly. But, he was going to pretend to be normal, just for right now, and ignore that.

Squinting at her he asked, "What's got you so worked up, Ope?"

"I got the job. That one I was telling you about....at the record shop on 11th! And guess what tonight is!?" The way her hazel eyes widened and her legs stopped bouncing had Peter's own smile stretching to the point of hurting his cheeks.

He loved this game,but only with her.

One of them would ask the other something, to which both already knew the answer, and then she would grab his arms and beg him to go, or vice versa.

Most of the time it never worked out. Peter had the "internship" or class and Opie had work or...Harry.

The boyfriend.

Peter found that out by the end of the first week; he had _almost_ worked up enough courage to just ask for her number when she'd just causally mentioned how her "boyfriend also works _weird_ hours and really loves to start the morning with some green tea, instead of _nine espressos_ , Pete."

There was no defensive tone when she said it. It had just come out and he could've sworn she looked the tiniest bit regretful when it did.

Maybe.

He also, maybe, hoped that she was. Since then they had "jokingly" asked each other to do things, outside of ordering coffee and sharing pastries while on her breaks.

It never worked out.

Until, it did.

"It starts with Star and ends in you, me and a galaxy FAR FAR away with a bunch of other nerds with comics. C'mon, Petey...come on..c'mon on, Peter!" The way she said his name, pulling her lip between her teeth as she waited for his answer.

He listened as her heart beat slowed to a steady rythm, the little sparkle diming in her eyes as she continued to wait.

Finally, just to know her better as _a friend_ , Peter sighed out, "Okay. You, me and a bunch of nerds? Sounds..sounds like a good night."

The way she smiled and breathed out, "Thanks, Pete. _I really need this_."

Peter was absolutely, without a doubt, totally screwed as he felt his own heart speed up and a strange chill go down his spine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> La douleur exquise, or the exquisite pain. 
> 
> °  
> °  
> °  
> Peter Parker is going through some things. 
> 
> Does this make sense?


	3. All You Own Is Yourself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let it go  
> Let it leave  
> Let it happen  
> Nothing  
> In this world  
> Was promised or  
> Belonged to you  
> Anyways  
> °  
> Rupi Kaur

**Five Hundred and Twenty Two Day, Before**

  
The first time Peter met Harry Osborn, he thought he might throw up. Not because he was sick, or anything like that, no- it was because Harry had, as it turned out, been in the front of his Lit class this entire time. 

Kind of. 

Harry missed more of the class than any other student could afford to. That alone made Peter nauseous but what really did him in? The way Harry flirted with the red head that sat next to him, whenever he decided to grace the class with his presence, that is. 

It had been a little over a month since he and Opheila had taken the nerve wrecking plunge into the icy friendship waters and in all that time he had never met her boyfriend, officially. 

It had just been a by-chance run that introduced Peter and Harry in class one morning. To say it didn't go well was an understatement. (The red head was very, very amused though.) 

At first he found it refreshing that this Harry fella didn't mind that his girl was spending almost all of her free time with him- it was so rare to find a good partner and Peter was so envious of their relationship- not that he was admitting to anything!

He'd never thought for a second that Opheila had purposely neglected to introduce them or have a group gathering. They were still in the early stages of their friendship, after all. 

Of course, he had to remind Ned of this almost every day though. 

"You don't look at me like I'm some kind of whimsical dreamy unicorn, Peter." Ned would sigh out every time Peter tossed out a black and white paper coffee cup with 'Petey' scrawled on the side in pink sharpie. 

(Peter really did love Ned to death. Really. But sometimes he was like a dog with a bone.)

Leaning against the dark stained countertop, he sipped from his paper cup as he watched Ophelia make an oat milk latte for a really, really, flustered middle aged man. 

She was good at that, Peter mused. Flustering people up when they tried to make passes at her- especially when she was working. She'd roll her hazel eyes, make a show of biting her lower lip gently and lean in to whisper something ridiculous. Tonight she'd delicately told this particular patron, "I'd rather fuck a buzzsaw than keep looking at you." 

Peter nearly spat his coffee across the glass covered muffin dish when he'd heard her, making her chuckle as she turned her back to the embarrassed man to make his drink.

Catching his eye for just a moment, she grinned and hollered, "You good, Pete?" 

He smiled around his coffee and shook his head as the man power walked away from the counter, the little bells on the heavy glass door jingling on his way out. 

Gazing down at his watch, Peter sighed once he realized he'd have to head out soon. Spider-Man wasn't really allowed to call in sick, especially when another body had been found that morning behind a walk-in clinic on 49th. He also had an obscene amount of studying to do still. 

"What's got you so pale tonight, P?" 

Ophelia knew something was weighing on Peter when he ordered a coffee, black, to go.

Of course he didn't actually leave, though. He never did, and she _never_ put his drink in one of the white ceramic mugs that lined the thick industrial shelves adorning the exposed brick wall. 

It was their _other_ thing. She wouldn't describe Peter as clingy- he was just _friendly_. Under any other circumstance Ophelia definitely would have minded anyone hanging around while she worked; but _never_ Peter. 

There was something so calming about him that she envied. 

Tapping the counter in front of Peter, she leaned forward on her elbows, wincing as she grinned. 

"Hmm?" Peter hummed, not entirely listening as he pondered over the significance of the clinic the body was found at. He really did need to leave and he really did need to, probably, loop the rest of the Avengers in on this series of murders. He just had that tingly feeling about them. 

But when he finally looked up at her, he wanted to stay a while longer. Smile faltering just slightly, Ophelia tried again.

"I said, Pete, what's up? You look like someone lost your hamster." 

"Just...stressed...with work. Jameson's waiting for a new front page picture and I've just been..uhm, distracted..lately." He knew as far as covers went, this one was _mostly_ truthful. Work at the Daily Bugle was stressing him out, of course, but it was the seemingly random murders and the distinctive lack of super villains at the moment that really had Peter losing sleep. 

And her, Ophelia. Opie. She had this look in her eyes that troubled him the last few times they'd seen each other. A mixture of hopefulness and something else. She'd get quiet sometimes when he'd talk about his work for the Bugle, about Spider-Man chasing, before asking what it was like to see your heroes everyday and only know who some of them really are. 

It was those times, and times like now, when she'd tilt her head slightly and stare at him, that made him wonder what it would be like to truly know her; to know what was really behind her bouts of silence. 

Peter placed his hand beside hers, tapping in rhythm with her, until she found her way back to their conversation. The closer their fingers got, the more the caffeine rushed to his heart. 

"Tell me all about it. If you want, I mean, Pete." She said in a low tone with a small grin, the cut in her bottom lip standing out more. 

Frowning, Peter placed his hand over hers, stopping her nervous tapping. 

"I will, once you tell me all about how you got that cut, Opie." 

"It's nothin'. It's just a thing that happened. I'm alright." 

He wanted to believe her, but the way she looked just slightly to her left, told him she was hiding something. He watched curiously as she turned his hand over and traced the lines of his palm with her fingertips; the smile gone from her face when she realized he didn't believe her. 

"Peter, I..I'm not a person you need to worry about. Alright?" 

Biting her lip again, Opie glanced up at him with furrowed brows, her fingers lingering over his palm. 

Peter knew when to accept a lie, since he had a talent for them himself. 

"Alright, Ope. You'll be alright tonight, too?" He hoped she would know what he was asking- he hoped the barely there bruise and busted lip was just really a _thing_ that happened and nothing else. 

Sighing, Opie gripped his hand gently between both of hers and brought it to her lips, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles. 

"You're sweet to worry, Pete. But, yeah..yes- I'll be alright." 

Peter definitely could feel his face grow warm as she placed his hand back on the counter and turned her back to him as she began preparing another to-go cup. 

He watched her for a few minutes, her behavior feeling odd to him. She would go through small moments of a quiet tenderness and, more often than not, immediately fall back into the out spoken woman he'd grown attached to. 

Not tonight, though. 

His phone _pinged_ twice in his pocket, letting him know that something had been picked up by Karen and he really did need to head out now. 

Standing to sling his bag back onto his shoulder as Ophelia came to stand in front of him again, a black and white cup being shoved into his line of sight. 

He looked up from the cup to see her smiling at him, that strange look back in her eyes as she blinked at him. 

"I have a feeling you'll need it." 

The bells knocked against the glass again, but neither of them looked over until a confused voice broke the tension between them. 

"Hey, babe. About that thing-- _Parker_? Babe? Hey.."

 _"Oh"_ , Peter thought, _"of course."_ His heart beat slowed as he spared a sideways glance at Harry through narrowed eyes.

Ophelia turned slowly, letting out the breath she'd been holding and steadied herself against the counter as she met Harry's blue eyes.

Peter knew he didn't like Harry in class, and he decided then that he didn't like him in general as he watched Opie briskly lean over the counter and speak to him in a hushed tone. He really tried not to hear what they were saying, he really did, but he had a bad feeling....again.

He checked the alert on his phone, frowning when it told him of another body had been found behind a shelter this time. Between shoving the device into his pocket and grabbing the drink he heard her whisper, "we'll talk about it later, please." 

"I'll see ya around, Ope. Stay safe, okay?"

The way Harry's face hardend and his jaw clenched wasn't unnoticed by either Ophelia or Peter; much in the same way the pink heart on the side of his cup wasn't missed by Harry on Peter's way out. 

As he pushed the glass door open with ease, he heard Harry grunt out, "What the hell was that all about?" 

Peter ducked down an alley, hoping to anything and everything holy, that he wouldn't be the cause of the next _"thing that happened"_ to Opie.

Looping back around to the little café after looking into the body, and a lap around the cities hot spots, Peter decided it wouldn't totally be out of character to make sure Ophelia got home safe (and alone). 

This was a part of the neighborhood, after all, and he was just being _friendly_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How are we doing? Do we enjoy? Opinions?
> 
> Peter just wants to exist in a world without chaos and pain, but would he even be himself without it?


	4. Dim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i wanted to explain  
> but my soul  
> was tied up  
> in knots
> 
> david jones

**Four Hundred and Seventy-Nine Days, Before**

Avoiding mirrors was quickly becoming an added step to Ophelia's morning routine; a step that she was only really noticing lately. She used to only focus on her physical appearance when it was necessary to whatever job she was doing. 

When she created various social media's she spent an extra few minutes in the morning on the light dusting of make-up she applied and began using a few extra hair care products. When she met Harry for the first time, she began applying make-up to bruises she'd acquire from her jobs. 

He'd mentioned how _unattractive_ bruises were during a movie once and how a "proper lady" should never have them, it had stuck with her. So, when she was in the gym or working she'd put a little extra effort into watching her movements. 

She couldn't lose him now that she had him. 

Ophelia wasn't exactly "safe", but she wasn't reckless either. At least, not 100% reckless. What she'd found out two months into _dating_ Harry was that he liked to _leave_ bruises. Ophelia knew she could defend herself when he would get angry, and she knew she could make him stop when they were _intimate_ together- she just didn't. 

It was what came with dating Harry Osborn. It came with him and she _deserved_ it- is what she'd mutter to herself as she applied more yellow and orange concealers to her flesh in the mornings. Then she'd comb her waves and watch as the dark strands fell around her pale face as she turned away from the mirror. 

She was just another pretender now. Like everyone else. 

When she met Peter Parker for the first time, officially, it hurt to smile but the guy made it so difficult not to when he tripped through the door that he yanked open too quickly. 

Becoming _friends_ with Peter hadn't been in her plans, but Ophelia was endlessly glad she had. He was airy and light- he was a goodness that she sought out in every dark corner of the world. 

While Harry hated her, sometimes too aggressive, music, Peter loved being drug to shows and bullied into being smacked around in mosh pits. 

Peter never admitted it to her, but it was easy to see when his eyes would light up every time they would leave a little bar together late into the night. Occasionally, she would drag Peter to get waffles and bacon at a shit diner because, _"We need to replenish our proteins, Peter. Duh."_

Nevermind that waffles didn't have the nutrients that needed to be replenished.

Nevermind that Ophelia just wanted to delay the inevitable argument that Harry would start when she got back to her apartment; she shouldn't have given him a key, but he insisted. 

And she couldn't lose him. Not yet.

Several times over the course of their slightly _obscure_ friendship, Ophelia had wished she was a different person, or that she had met Peter first- not Harry. 

Peter was never supposed to see a bruise, cut lip or an argument between Harry and herself. Never. But he had. After their brief "meeting" that night at Bones, Harry had started making himself more _available_ during Peter and Ophelia's _friendly_ nights out. 

"We're just going to a show, Harry. You don't even like the band!" She tried an hour before they met Peter outside of a dive bar in Brooklyn. 

Harry insisted on joing them, Peter insisted it was fine, and Ophelia felt like the third wheel as the most intense staring match she'd ever witnessed took place before they entered the red-brick building. 

The entire night Harry made snide comments about the music, drinks, people, and Ophelia's " _poor taste_ ". 

The last comment being said with an upward turnt nose, side eyes burning into Peter. 

Peter had asked her once, while waiting for her shift to end at the café, how her and Harry had met. 

_"Right place, right time- I guess, Pete."_

That's all he ever got from her.

As they waited around for the opening band to start, Harry had decided he was going to recount the entire spectacle of their first encounter to poor Peter.

All the way from the awkwardly stood-up date Ophelia found herself on, to the way the tight black dress she was wearing made him "have to explore her more." 

Peter's ears were pink as he sipped his lukewarm beer and tried to change the subject. Ophelia had never before been so embarrassed. 

The night was a wreck. 

That's how every _friday-night-friend-date_ went for another month before she finally snapped at Harry and demanded to know what his deal with Peter was. Through gritted teeth, his face entirely red, Harry ground out, "it's how he watches you when you're not looking!" 

Ophelia wasn't _daft_. She knew Peter was protective of her, she knew that he sometimes asked Spider-Man to make sure she was safe walking home from the record store after late shifts (it's rather hard to miss a swinging man in the sky) and she knew that he absolutely loathed Harry Osborn but was too sweet to say it to her. 

She also knew Harry was cheating on her. She just didn't care anymore- or if she ever really did. 

It wasn't until Harry had whispered out, almost brokenly, "And I've seen how you are with him. It's nothing like you are with me. Ophelia, you're _warm_ with Parker. You...you're ice with me!" 

His words would've had a greater effect on her, had they not already been something she'd considered.

The way he stalked towards her, the anger in his eyes, had her stepping backwards until she was pressed against Harry's marble kitchen island. 

"How long? How long have you been sleeping with him?" 

The question knocked the breath from Ophelia's lungs. She hadn't expected him to jump straight to an _affair_. Eyes wide and mouth slightly ajar, Ophelia laughed.

"What!? That's...that's what you think we're doing? When I say we're at a show..or..or a comic reading? I can't handle this." 

Harry went on for a while about how she'd never wanted to see bands live before Parker, how she never stayed late at work, how her first time at Coney Island should have been with him and how she started dressing " _disturbingly"_ different after she'd met Peter Parker. 

"I've always gone to shows, and I've stayed late at work tons of times, Harry. You would have noticed if you weren't always locked away at Oscorp trying to swindle all of Starks investors with whatever ridiculous weapons projects you and that...that creep father of yours are doing!" 

Opheila snapped, sucking in a deep breath before she continued, "What was I supposed to do? Stand at my window and wait for the Oscorp lights to turn off and wave my handkerchief out of the window for you?"

She only broke eye contact when the force of his fist knocked her to the side. Catching herself on the counters edge, Ophelia could taste the bitter copper tang on her tongue. 

Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and standing up straight, Ophelia's hazel eyes searched his steel ones. She could see every answer she needed; nodding once, she held out her hand, palm up. 

"Give me my key. Now, Harry." 

It must of been her cold tone, or the complete lack of care for the blood dripping down her chin, that unnerved Harry enough not to try arguing his way around her demand. 

Snatching his keys from the white ceramic bowl on the island, Harry pulled her apartment key from his ring and tossed it at her. 

"For the record, Harry. I've **always** dressed this way. You just met me on a bad night." 

Not waiting for a reply, Ophelia moved towards the metal door of his condo. Pausing briefly when he spoke up, finally. 

"What were you looking for in me, Opie? Did you find it in Parker?" 

_"I hope not."_

The door shut gently behind her as she made her way towards the buildings elevator. The sound of her name from Harry's lips made her skin _crawl_. It felt like..like home when Peter said it. 

Her heart sank at the realization.

°°°

Peter Parker sitting on her front steps was not what she was expecting to see at 10:30 pm (on a Tuesday, no less) but it was definitely welcomed. 

Seeing a pair of black boots stop in front of him, Peter looked up shyly before standing. The brown paper bag next to him emitting a _delicious_ smell and making a painful grin work it's way onto Ophelia's face. 

"Fancy running into you here, Pete." Her voice was a little hoarse and her dark waves were slightly tangled around her face, but what grabbed all of Peter's attention was the nasty bruise and dried blood on her lower lip. 

"OPIE. What happened!? Ar-are you okay?" 

She'd just about forgotten the pain in her face, until Peter gingerly tilted her chin towards the street light as his other hand rested on her neck. 

"M'fine, Pete. Was a botched...mugging. Can't get anything if I don't have anything, y'know?" 

Peter knew she was lying. She knew _he knew_ she was lying, but bless Peter Parker for not calling her out on her bullshit tonight.

Instead, he reached down and brought both of her hands to his lips. Pressing a kiss to them, just as she had done for him, he looked her in the eyes and asked, "Is there a chance of this mugger...mugging you..again?" 

Frowning slightly, Ophelia shook her head. "No, Pete. I don't think I'll see him again." 

Peter let out a long, shaky breath, nodded and grabbed the take-out bag- tugging her with him up the stairs. 

°°°

Too early the next day, Ophelia found herself behind the thick oak counter of JitterBones, browsing the news on her phone. Clicking TheDailyBulge.net after a particular headline grabbed her attention: 

  
**HARRY OSBORN, HEIR OF OSCORP, CLAIMS THE WALL CRAWLING MENACE 'SPIDERMAN' THREATENED LIFE.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting somewhere.


	5. Free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am free
> 
> That is why 
> 
> I am lost.
> 
> -Franz Kafka

**Four Hundred and Seventy-Six Days, Before**

Peter knew he shouldn't have used Spider-Man in such a personal way, but seeing Opie's bloody lip and red nose had been his breaking point.

Honestly, he was more surprised with how well he _restrained_ himself with Harry after many of his suspicions had been confirmed. Peter had never liked bullies and always tended to step in, even _before_ he gained his superhero identity.

Seeing Opie shuffle up to him, bruised and busted up, had really put their _friendship_ into perspective for Peter.

He had denied feeling anything deeper any time someone poked at him over it, but now, he couldn't even lie to himself.

(Especially that time he very vividly described how he'd take her to Coney Island for the first time as soon as they opened. Or, better yet, they'd just "sneak" in and he would "accidentally" figure out how to run the ferris wheel- just for her. He never knew how angry that idea had made Harry; Ned loved it.)

Yeah, using Spider-Man to scare Harry into swearing to leave her alone wasn't his proudest moment- but he hadn't regretted it.

At least, not until he breezed into Bones late a few mornings later. Ophelia didn't greet him loudly, like normal, and she turned her back to him when she realized who had entered the little café. No _"Mornin', Pete!"_ Or, _"How dead inside are you today, Petey?"_ He had really messed this up.

Sighing deeply and dramatically loud, Peter edged around to the corner of the counter. He stood there for a beat, watching her delicate hands work quickly. Had he been anyone else he would have never noticed the slight shake of her hands- but he wasn't anyone else.

"Opie?" He tried, making his voice small and timid. The girl in front of him finally stopped moving and turned to him, making him snap his mouth shut as she slid her phone onto the counter towards him. "Why would you tell him, Peter? You have no idea how _dangerous_ the Osborn's are!"

The words came out in a hushed, frantic tone. Peter pulled himself up to his full height and frowned. Deep toffee eyes unblinking as he processed her words.

_How could the Osborn's be dangerous?_

"I wasn't thinking straight, Ope. You showed up bloody and terrible looking! W-was I-I supposed to do nothing?" Peter hated when he would let his emotions control him and the stutter that would follow, but she needed to know _someone_ was looking after her! Even if that someone was Spider-Man.

Opie turned her back to Peter again, focusing on wiping down the bean grinders and regaining control over her voice. No one had ever looked at her like that before; like they would start a war over _her_.

Dropping the damp white linen rag, she gripped the counter with both hands and inhaled deeply before looking up to the black ceiling. "Peter, I'm not worth his fight. You shouldn't have said anything.."

He watched as some of the tension left her body when she finally dropped her hands to her sides, after her knuckles had turned white from the strain of her grip.

Her words had started to seep into his blood before she'd even finished speaking them. Her...not worth it? Ridiculous. As he made to voice his thoughts, Peter's hands flung onto the counter top so hard the entire structure shook.

The two patrons at the other end jerked upright at the sudden commotion and inconvenience of their drinks wobbling slightly.

Opie watched the normally _quietly_ energetic man in front of her jump back in surprise before she dashed over to the other customers, apologizing and offering to remake their hardly spilt drinks.

Peter decided to take a seat at his normal little table by the window until the café was a bit more empty, or until he was better in control of his emotions and _strength_.

Watching as Peter ran his hands through his chestnut curls, her heart ached. She hadn't known Peter long enough for her to matter this much to him- so much that he'd asked a superhero, basically a stranger, to look out for her.

Unless, Peter knew who Spider-Man really was?

It made sense, she mused while watching him fidget with his bag's strap; he had been taking Spider-Man's picture for years, exclusively.

She wondered how he could keep that a secret as she begun to prepare a _two pumps till death_ mocha espresso for the sulking flanneled being by the window. Taking a few deep breaths and wiping her palms down the front of her black apron, Opie tucked a few warm croissants next to the pale blue and pink ceramic mugs on her tray and slowly crossed the room to Peter's table.

Gently sliding the try onto the small round table top, she dropped into the plush chair across from a wide-eyed Peter. Lowering his gaze to the blue ceramic mug she had nudged towards him, he quickly looked up again to see the smallest trace of a smile on her pale lips.

"Ceramic means we gotta alot to talk about, Parker." Opie said smoothly, her hands wrapped around her own steaming mug before she raised a brow and tilted her head to add, "Unless you're busy now?"

"Not yet..no...never.." Peter rushed out, the _for you_ left hanging in the air between them.

Laying his hand across the table, palm up, Peter watched as Opie seemed to weigh her options before slowly dancing her own fingers across his.

"Thanks, Pete."

The words were so gentle and so simple that Peter couldn't help the wide smile that burst across his lips, and it seemed to be just what Ophelia was searching for as her grip finally tighted on his hand _just so_.

Just as Peter started to think he hadn't ruined his...relationship...with Opie, the girl across from him stiffened again- her hand sliding from his right as goosebumps broke out across Peter's flesh.

Screams and tires squealing were all he could process before he was yanking Ophelia to the ground as the windows were blown out, showering them in thick glass shards.

Everything was dim and bright all at once.

From so, so far away Peter was trying to chase Ophelia's incredibly quiet voice before the darkness consumed him entirely.

"Shit, shit, shit. Peter? Pete, what the...god...Pete...oh..no.."

The shop front was a littered mess of glass, coffee beans and blood; the few customers left in the building sat scattered and covered in dust amongst the over turned furniture.

Running her fingers over Peter's dirty face, Ophelia pressed her fingers to his neck - his pulse was still strong. She felt the weight leave her shoulders as she exhaled shakily.

At least he was alive.

As she started to grip Peter's shoulders to try shaking him awake a heat wave washed over her, reddening her bare arms and chilling her spine.

Somewhere, there was a scream and the distant sound of cracking.

A disembodied, shrill voice cut into the small café; somewhere between robotic and human.

_"Well, well...if it isn't exactly who I'm looking for.."_

Ophelia stared, hazel eyes wide, at the thing hovering over the wreckage.

She felt Peter's hand grip her wrist tightly just before everything **exploded**.


End file.
